I do not own My Babysitter's a Vampire or any of it's characters.
The man fiddled with the cigarette in his mouth as he looked up at the full moon. He checked his watch as he took the cigarette out and blew some smoke out. Past midnight. Anytime now. He was out on the edge of Whitechapel, leaning against the hood of his truck. His impatience was growing but he had to stick to the plan.
Eventually he heard the howl and the screams out in the distance. He took one last puff from the cigarette and then put it out in his palm, dropping it on the ground.
"Finally," he exclaimed.
He whistled a little as he got ready. Suddenly the werewolf leapt from the trees, roaring and aiming right at the man. The man smiled before taking out the gun in the holster on his hip and dropping the werewolf with one shot. The man twirled the gun in his hand before slowly walking towards the now dead body of the werewolf, slowly changing back into it's human form.
A couple came bursting out of the same woods, the man holding his bleeding arm and the woman waving at the man.
"He's been hurt. We need help."
The man didn't even look up as he dropped both of them with a shot each. He lit another cigarette and shook his head in disappointment.
"You disappoint me so far Canada."
He returned to his truck, driving off and heading out into the night. He knew the serious waiting part of his mission was beginning. He just had one more thing to do.
He'd been in Whitechapel for only a week and he was pretty sure it was now paranormal free for the most part, save for any ghosts which of course he couldn't track, magicians, he had no beef with their kind, vampires, which would violate too many treaties to count, and most importantly to him, anyone with psychic abilities of some kind. But everything else had been dealt with. Now he had to wait.
He drove to a higher elevation so he could look down at the whole tow. Then he listened. He listened for full half hour, not moving, barely breathing. Nothing., Whitechapel was at peace for the night. The man lit another cigarette and blew out some smoke, slowly.
He knew Whitechapel was a hot bed of paranormal activity. He also knew someone kept stopping bad things here. At an alarming rate. So they were tracking these things and stopping them. As far as the man was concerned, it could mean only one thing. Failure the last go around. Well not this time. This time, he was out for blood. He took another puff from his cigarette and blew smoke out at the town.
"Whoever you are, I hope you're ready. Because a war is coming for you."